The Centurion Chronicles: Genesis
by Tremulous X.H
Summary: All great sagas have small beginnings, pieces moving here and there at Fate's whim. One's fortune is stolen, and seeks a new path. Another is given a new chance at life, which he never had. Together, they will pay the prices that all legends do for history to remember them. Original characters, storyline. I don't own Alien, Predator, Weyland-Yutani, other FOX stf. All else is mine


"_The xenomorph. The enigmatic creature which has baffled our scientists, killed our men, and apparently undone civilizations. Yet, despite all that we face, Weyland-Yutani is obsessed with the deadly creature. And, with good reason._"

Professor Benjamin Michael Darkarlov was not a man given over to whims befitting men of earthly pleasures. But, this occasion merited drowning his sorrows. He took another shot of honey mead. Ah, what a fine brew it was as well! He had been saving it for a special event or when his superiors congratulated him, finally, for his years of devoted work.

"_We have discovered through the xenomorph the way to cure cancers, the last disease of which we cannot rid ourselves of. New advances in medicine were made in great leaps and bounds from what little we have been able to study._"

The words swam through his vision, a melancholy reminder of his greatest achievement. He had written them, after all. Why shouldn't he remember them? Ah, yes, that was why...

He poured and drained another shot, slamming the glass upon the table he was sitting at.

"_It has been my sole duty to consolidate as well as lead teams of gifted men and women to unlock the secrets of this marvelous creature. Enclosed is the fruit of my labor; their history from what we can gather from ancient Pilot archaeological sites, their biology to the best of our understanding, their behavior, everything we know and cannot at this time know. We will at some point unlock the puzzle which is the xenomorph, and when we do we shall have the knowledge to cure our woes of poverty, sickness, and perhaps even death._"

He had sent it himself to the Board of Directors. They had taken about a month to finally come to a decision regarding it. That decision had been revealed to Darkarlov not even thirty minutes ago, from his ranking liaison to the men and women that more or less controlled all United Systems space.

"Damn them," he began, almost laughing. "Damn them, damn them, damn them!" The laughing transformed into unrestrained tears.

Darkarlov, like any true human being, cried. He cried when his co-workers were maimed for life or killed in the course of their research. He cried tears of joy upon another new, life-saving discovery. He cried at weddings, at funerals, at parties! Despite all of his fifty-six years, he had never once felt this crushing depression which now hung over him, erasing all the good memories he ever had for a time.

He poured another drink, swallowing both the bittersweet beverage and another bout of sobs.

_Ned Ivers pressed the comm. panel on Darkarlov's door. He had a private suite, like all high-ranking scientists on Weyland-Yutani science stations. Ned dreaded this moment. He hoped to God that Ben wasn't in at that moment. He nervously fingered the lock on the briefcase he was carrying in his right hand._

_"Yes? Ah, Ned, come in, come in! I was just preparing some sushi to celebrate." Ben was in. He hadn't heard the news. Ned muttered a curse to himself. He steeled himself against whatever the Professor would choose to react with._

_The door slid open with a faint hiss, revealing an average sized man of five foot eight feet, bald with a graying brown beard. It was already starting to take on a dull silver sheen. He was expertly using a knife to gut a fish, a real live fish and not one of the synthesized protein clods of yesteryears lunch mess. The man loved his sushi, and saved what income he had to get a live one directly imported from Earth every few months._

_He was also not a pudgy man, though age was starting to take its toll. Darkarlov could barely afford the time to visit the rec room every few days, with all the work he had been doing over the past year. Still, he was strong, making Ned all the more uncomfortable to be the bearer of ill news. Ivers would prefer to die old and toothless in a bed, not slit open by Ben's thirsty steel or, even worse, pummeled to a pulp by his large fists._

_The Professor turned around from his knife-work, his usual cheerful smile adorning his weathered face. "I also happen to have a vintage cask of an old Earth intoxicant. It's rather easy on your system in small quantities, but-..."_

_Ned couldn't wipe the grm look off of his face. Darkarlov met his gaze, the smile wavering._

_"Ned? What's wrong?" the Professor asked. Ivers shook his head slowly._

_"Ben... you might want to sit down. And please, put down the knife," Ned responded in a slow, measured tone. Darkarlov stood, though put down the knife and faced Ned completely, his smile replaced with great concern._

_"The Board... the Board would like to congratulate you for your long years of service," Ned began, going to the table in the center of the room, a few feet away from the countertop Darkarlov had been using to prepare his fish._

_"Effective this morning, you are hereby released from the service of Weyland-Yutani Corporation."_

_Darkarlov froze. He did not know what to say._

_"All work you have done for the Company has been seized, and your rights to intellectual property regarding the xenomorph revoked. As we speak, all of the information you have gathered is being confiscated for more secure holding," Ned continued. "Damnit, Ben, don't look at me like that! Please! I am your friend, but this comes from powers that are way above both of our heads!"_

Darkarlov had been floored. He had never expected this. At the very least, he expected an honorable mention in some history book's appendix or as a footnote, but this? And so, here he found himself, alone with a bottle meant for two.

"Oh, what does it matter, anyways..." He knocked the shot glass off the table, grabbing the cask of honey mead and taking a good long swill from it. Now, he was good and drunk. The little click in his head, the one he had not experienced since his first drink at the ripe young age of twenty-one, went off. He could forget the bad news. Yes, the bad news was now a memory. He could move on.

His thoughts slurred and coherency inhibited, there was one thing that he remembered. Fumbling in his right pocket, he produced a business card. On one side, there were two bright red letters, an M and a C, bordered with a golden trim and encompassed by a muted yellow disk. On the other side, there was a vidphone number.

He stumbled over to the terminal on the far side of the room. After three tries, he input the correct sequence and was rewarded with a Connecting... screen. He hadn't the care to brush himself off, nor gather the strength to sit upright and not put his chin in his hands. He was bleary-eyed, unkempt, and had mead staining his good white shirt.

This was no way to greet his new employer yet greet him he did.

That face he had met earlier, bumping into him by chance on the station, winked into existence again. Those strong, defined features of a man who stood nearly seven feet tall with a fine golden crop of hair weren't things one forgot, even in a drunken stupor.

"Mishhhtaaah Alexander, a pleshure to shee you again..." Darkarlov said.

"Oh my, Professor Darkarlov. Have you been drinking?" The words may have conveyed discern, but this Alexander was one of those people whose face was always set into the cold iron gaze akin to a bird of prey, calculating with the slight hint that they may be considering to eat what they see. Despite this, the intonation of the words were careful and sounded genuine; albeit, all things sound genuine when one is this drunk.

"Naaaaaaooooow, jes' a few pints, er, shots before retirement," Ben responded, laughing. "That eesh, as long ash that opening you mentioned is shtill... ah... open..."

"Ah, I see. I take it that something happened to end your previous term of employment."

"One could shay that!"

"And this one does say that. Yes, Professor Darkarlov, the position is still open. I have had many resumes sent to me regarding it in the past two days, actually. I reviewed your history and decided that I should wait until another day to contact you." This man had the demeanor of a businessman, the sort of disinterested whimsical air about one who has long been in possession of power and is accustomed to getting what he wanted. "You have forced my hand to quicken my action, however, with this call.," a small smirk pulled at the right edge of Alexander's mouth.

"Damn the Company, damn them all to hell! May they rot in unmarked graves or find themselves overrun by my precious little creatures!" Darkarlov responded, rallied into conscious thought and finding the willpower to pronounce his words. "They let me go. _Let. Me. Go._ For all my years of faithful service, for my life's work, they tell me that they now own it! MY WORK! Doomed to sit in some archive where it will be of no use to anyone. _DAMN THEM_!"

Darkarlov did not notice in his rage that he was shouting at the top of his lungs at the screen. Alexander regarded him cooly, and suddenly his hard line of a mouth slowly shifted into a smile.

"Do not fear, Professor. Your talents will not be wasted in the employ of Maximus Corporation."

It is said that the smile is the human method of expressing joy, happiness, or abashment.

Alexander's lips curled up slightly in a short chuckle.

It is also said that some smiles only show teeth.


End file.
